To the next hundred
by Thefreakoutsideyourwindow
Summary: The new year approaches them, but this one leaves a lingering question. It has been a century since the first world war, but will they choose to remember it or forget it? (FrUk)


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: I really wanted to do something for the new year and a conversation like this came up a while back on the news so I'm like 'Hey, why not?' and that's how this was born. Whew, two stories in one day is quite surprising for me, anyway, enjoy!**

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**To the next hundred**

Specks of light shone and twinkled, dappled against the velvet darkness. A cool and harsh breeze ran through the trees and over the clearing, causing the grass to dance gracefully. The muffled sound of music and laughter could be heard through the solid walls of the building and out into the near empty garden. Warm light permeated past the sliding glass doors and onto the solid wooden porch, each step forcing it to emit an empty groan.

A lone figure leant against the sturdy porch railing, letting out a sigh of relief from being freed from the cage of overbearing party animals and roasting heat. A cool breeze went past again, causing the figure to let out a content sigh as the wind played with his messy dirty blonde mop, emerald eyes shining in the moonlight as they skimmed their now peaceful surroundings.

The sound of the glass doors sliding open again caused him to jump back slightly, but he visibly relaxed somewhat upon seeing who it was.

"What're you doing here frog? I thought you'd be enjoying the party." Arthur huffed, annoyed that his moment of peace was disturbed so abruptly, and by Francis none the less.

"One might ask ze same of you, Angleterre, 'owever I am inclined to believe zhat you are 'ere because you are socially awkward, non?" He retorted swiftly, smirking slightly upon hearing the muffled curses of 'bloody frog' and 'spoiling a perfect night'.

"You still didn't answer my question." Arthur replied, finding his previous position on the railing as he leant comfortably against it, choosing to ignore the insult. A sigh was not the reply he expected, making him face the Frenchman once more, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"It seems zhat ze others do not realise just what tonight signifies." He responded, voice surprisingly weary in contrast to his normally playful charm. Thinking, Arthur stared at him baffled for a few moments longer until the pieces clicked in together, and he let out a shocked and saddened, 'oh' before turning his head to look out at the scenery again, avoiding the Frenchman's gaze.

"It'll be a century tonight, won't it?" The lone voice questioned, not necessarily asking for a vocal answer, but for a form of confirmation.

Francis nodded wearily in reply, debating whether or not to speak, but chose to do so anyway. "Do you zhink zhat zhey will still remember it?"

"Of course they will. It's not like one can forget the first world war." England quickly brushed off.

"Non." An angry growl replied, making the Brit jump a little. "Not zhe war itself, but..." He chewed on his index finger for a moment before continuing, sapphire orbs worn. "Do you zhink zhey will not remember all of zhe dangerous potential, of just 'ow bad zhings 'ad been, and just 'ow much zhey can get worse? Will zhey remember zhat in a day, everything one knows can be destroyed?"

Turning, Arthur looked at Francis, _really_ looked at Francis, and for the first time saw doubt in his eyes, doubt for the future. "Francis, I..." Arthur trailed off, uncertain of just what to say, just what he _could_ say. Slowly, Francis turned away from Arthur and let out a loose sigh, somewhat frustrated at just how things were going. But before he could wallow in a pit of his own misery any longer, an authoritative and slightly irked voice cut through the night.

"Francis, I never thought I'd have to say this, but I will now and this will be the _only_ time I am saying it, so listen and listen well. From the moment I was born as a country you were always there. Be it fighting me in wars," the voice grew softer in somewhat saddened nostalgia, "or mocking my fashion sense." however, the voice soon regained its vigour with a tint of embarrassment. "But regardless, you have always been there for me one way or the other, and I intend to do the same for you. So, even if no one else remembers the suffering that you went through, that we _all_ went through," the voice paused and the sound of a breath being taken could be heard before it continued, "I will, and it'll take a damn long time to shut me up about it. Now stop looking so dreary, you may mock me here, but as ridiculous as it may sound..." The voice quietened again before coming back with a silent resolve, "As long as you're here, I will be too. You can't lose someone like me easily in a war. So stop looking so upset all right? I can't mock you if you're like this, and no one else is worth the effort..."

Looking up after staring at the floorboards intensely through the majority of the confession, pink faced, England set his eyes on Francis and noticed that the bright blue eyes were streaming endless tears, but the eyes themselves had no sadness and a wonky smile was plastered onto his face.

"Oh mon petiet lapin!" Francis exclaimed before running up to England and embracing him in a back breaking hug, laughing quietly all the while.

"B-bloody frog! What do you think you're d-doing?!" England stammered, his face heating up even more in embarrassment.

"Oh Arthur, I never thought you could be so sentimental!"

"S-shut up!" England retorted, burying his face into the crook of France's neck, thinking it may have been just some elaborate act but he knew the tears spoke else wise.

"Angleterre, look at me." Cupping his cheek, Francis made it so they were facing each other again, the party long forgotten from their minds. "As embarrassed as zhis may make you feel, I can 'onestly say I 'ave never 'eard such beautifully true words."

Arthur merely spluttered, looking for an excuse to get away from such a close proximity, but his head was held firmly in place by Francis' hand.

"And since all zhose years ago you saved me from enemies, saved me from becoming nothing but an empty shell of what I am, I shall protect you as you 'ave protected me." His voice resounded with an old strength, pushing past the muffled ecstatic chanting of numbers in the background.

Arthur could only look at him stunned, wide eyed at the weight of that promise and unable to say anything in return.

"So Arthur, mon petiet lapin," his eyes softened a touch at the use of such an old nick name, "Even if zhe tides turn against us, even if I turn against you, will you still 'old the faith that I shall not 'arm you and will do everything in my power not to fade like zhe other fallen empires before you?"

A breathy replied of 'yes' was all Arthur could handle, overwhelmed by the centuries of emotion flooding through him. The cheering seemed to get louder in the background as the numbers decreased in size, far away from them as if in another world.

"FIVE!"

"Zhen let us make a vow, before zhe trees and zhe wind, zhe moon and zhe stars, zhat no matter in what way, shape or form, as long as one of us remains, zhe other shall too."

"FOUR!"

Blood seemed to pound through his head, making everything seem ten times brighter, ten times more sensitive as he leant in closer to Francis, to the one person who had truly been here all this time, even if he was on the other side of the battlefield. He nodded, making the world shake for a moment before he locked his gaze onto those oh so familiar blues.

"THREE!"

"Through all zhe hard times and difficulties zhat may face us, I will always stay with you, through the present times..." Francis started, gazing longingly into the emeralds that had captivated him so long ago.

"TWO!"

"And to the next hundred years." Arthur finished, leaning in and abandoning all rationality of mind as Francis seemed to follow in his actions.

"ONE!"

Lips crashed together and passion coursed through their bodies as fireworks of all colours exploded behind them releasing multitudes of colours, the lights from them cascading down their pale forms, the booming of the fireworks mimicking the sounds heard from the trenches but now no longer feared with the knowledge that even if they went through hell, they would not go through alone, thoughts being invaded by that of cheers of jubilation of "HAPPY NEW YEAR!".

Pulling apart for breath, the two panted looking at each other, judging their next actions. Suddenly, with a loud _WHAM,_ the sliding glass doors were open as a slightly tipsy America wandered out.

"Happy new year dudes!" He exclaimed, raising his hands up in the air and forgetting he was holding a cup of punch (most likely spiked by Prussia) the liquid sloshing about in the cup before some came down on his head.

"'appy new year indeed." Francis remarked, smiling contently as he and England were passed a cup from the punch as well, making the pair of sober nations raise an eyebrow but not questioning it.

"A toast!" Alfred exclaimed, raising his glass to the sky before exclaiming, "To a happy new year!"

England and France did the same, but before England downed his glass he shouted with a knowing smirk, "And to the next hundred!"

Francis could only smile.


End file.
